


Scraping By

by darkwood



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age II
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-07
Updated: 2015-05-10
Packaged: 2017-11-13 17:32:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/505989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkwood/pseuds/darkwood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Moon colored hair?”</p>
<p>	Elodie winced.</p>
<p>	“Oh yes,” Bethany was giggling now. “That’s what she wrote when she wrote about him. ‘Alas, my sweet one with his moon colored hair, a friendly face I abandoned there’,” she recited.</p>
<p>	Aveline glanced at Elodie, brows lifted. “I didn’t know you wrote.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lingering in the Gallows

**Author's Note:**

> "It is not a life at all. It is a reticence, in three volumes."
> 
> William E. Gladstone

         Waiting for Gamlen was a tedium. The Gallows was full of unwashed refugees waiting around for something to happen. The smell alone was enough to put one off food for a while. The three Hawkes were used to this sort of thing, to a point, but Aveline was more irritable than a bear woken in the depths of winter. Elodie knew, she had seen one, and it was no match for the harsh snarl that came out of Aveline when she broke up a few of the other Fereldens fighting the first evening after they had spoken to the lieutenant.

         The morning after, both Leandra and Bethany gave Aveline a wide berth. Bethany did nothing but fidget, and mother sat out of the sun, preserving her strength after the cough she’d gotten on the ship from Gwaren. Elodie was restless, concerned that this might not work and eager to find something that would. Here was where Kirkwall kept their mages, and Bethany _would not_ join a Circle. _Especially_ not one that was based in a slaves’ hold. Her mother’s insistence that Gamlen would set things right, and this was the home they were looking for was all that stilled Elodie from action.

         For love of her mother, Elodie made the effort to be optimistic. She tried to still her thoughts, but the rawness of all that had passed was with her. At first she tried to make friends with the guard that kept light patrols among the Gallows. It was not something she expected to have any difficulty with. She had always gotten on well with other warriors. Those in King Cailan’s army had been friendly, and she’d been trained by mercenaries before. The only guards that showed any interest in talking showed an equal interest in what could be done without armor on, with a gusto that rose Elodie’s protective hackles. She kept closer to Bethany and her mother, having a quiet word with Aveline about the same. Aveline’s response had been to clench her fists and throw such a baleful glare at the nearest of the guards that the man visibly backed away from them despite being at his assigned post.

         “You need not fear, Hawke,” Aveline said. “Not while I breathe.”

         “Now, now, Aveline,” Elodie had replied, wondering if there was a better animal to liken Aveline to than a bear, “We’ll take turns.”

         Despite the joke, it had gotten the two onto better terms. Together they arranged for one of them to sit up at night and keep watch, and decided that there should always be one of them with a sword on hand to look after those without them. When her fierce protective glare was absent, Aveline wore a wary or distant look on her face. Elodie could not blame her, after what happened with Wesley. Rather than push, Elodie was careful to give the other woman space to grieve and think.

         Elodie had enough of that to do for herself.

         The four of them did not confine themselves to the steps. They all took turns walking among the other refugees. Bethany took to playing games with the nicer children. Leandra, who had no ounce of magic in her to offer, was a good ear to the other women, some of whom had never had to flee anything. Elodie traded what little they had with the others for what was more greatly needed. The ship from Gwaren had depleted what coin had been saved in Lothering and from her pay in the army. Elodie was always careful with her coin, and that had left enough to be sure that there was enough for food to eat.

         The problem was there was no food to be had.

         When the second day passed on to the third and it became obvious that no one had much of anything with them, she frowned. On the fourth day, when it became obvious that the lack of food was unlikely to change, she left Aveline with Bethany and her mother and headed off down the shore a little bit to do some fishing.

         All the while her mind bubbled with words. Elodie ached to rid herself of what she was thinking, but the only way she knew how was to write it down, and though she had paper and quill in her pack, there was no money for ink or trader to buy it from. With food so scarce and no telling if they’d have to head down the coast to somewhere else, she would not even bother to look at the shop set up in the square. The money would be better saved.

         Elodie determined to suffer through without. She would survive, though she developed a bit of a headache, and that was that.

         The trip back from the coast was boring, at this point. The careful plod of left foot, right foot in repetition until she made her way around the edge of the final dock and edged back up into the Gallows. More than one of the small knots of refugees eyed her as she headed in with her sack, but she kept an eye on them and moved on her way.

         “Did someone order dinner?” Elodie said, plopping down on the steps beside Aveline and dropping the bag nearer to Leandra. “Because if we can find a fire, I think we’ll be in luck.”

         Bethany was watching her, quietly, fingers working on the end of her staff. Elodie winked at her sister.

         “That smells like fish,” Leandra said, reaching for the bag.

         “Probably a good thing,” Elodie said, “because that’s what I brought. Nicked my hand good catching them, so someone else is going to have to clean them.”

         Leandra smiled at her daughter, leaning over to kiss her cheek. “I’ll handle supper,” she said.

         Aveline shifted awkwardly. “You should have said something, Hawke, I would have…”

         “You were watching my stuff,” Elodie said, giving Aveline a meaningful look. “My whole life’s in that bag right there, and in Bethany and mother. Least I can do is feed the guardian.”

         An uncomfortable look flitted across Aveline’s face, but she nodded.

         “Over-protective,” Bethany muttered. Her tone was good-natured, as was her wont. She shook her head.

         “Well,” Elodie reached up to pinch the bridge of her nose. “I had to do _something_.”

         “Headache again?” Bethany asked.

         “Mm.”

         “You look like when we were crossing the Bannorn that winter,” Bethany said. “On the way to Lothering. I remember you had that terrible headache and father said it was something to do with that boy you left behind outside of West Hill. I was too young to really understand, but…”

         “He wasn’t so very special,” Elodie said, shifting in her seat. She didn’t think this was a good topic in front of Aveline, after what had happened to her husband. “A good kisser, but lousy with a sword in his hand.”

         Bethany chuckled. “He had… what was it you said about his hair, Ellie?”

         “Bethany, I really don’t think-”

         “His hair?” Aveline asked.

         “ ‘Moon colored’!” Bethany said, grinning broadly.

         “Moon colored hair?”

         Elodie winced.

         “Oh yes,” Bethany was giggling now. “That’s what she wrote when she wrote about him. ‘Alas, my sweet one with his moon colored hair, a friendly face I abandoned there’,” she recited.

         Aveline glanced at Elodie, brows lifted. “I didn’t know you wrote.”

         “Well I…” Elodie adjusted her gauntlet, feeling awkward. “Bethany wasn’t supposed to go through _my journal_.”

         “I apologized,” Bethany said.

         “And yet here you are, reciting it in public.”

         Aveline continued to regard her quietly, and Elodie wondered how the other woman saw her after knowing that. Carver had finally come to understand, when they were at camp in Ostagar. He’d read what she wrote at camp, surprised at how similar their thoughts were about things that they had often quarreled about. Carver had admitted that he was bad at putting things into words, and the two had spent the long evenings before the battle talking about what was happening. Carver even asked her to write to Peaches for him. Elodie hadn’t quite felt up to it, saying it should be in his hand, but she’d helped him with it.

         Thinking about Carver, now, hurt. Elodie folded up her memories of her brother, glancing after where her mother had gone. She caught sight of Leandra talking with another one of the refugees, one that was sort of nice. Aveline followed her gaze, and then rose. It was a relief. Elodie couldn’t know if Aveline would think her habit something special or something silly, and now was not the time to figure it out.

         Bethany’s expression turned apologetc as Aveline left them. “I only brought it up because it was _well_ written, Ellie,” she said. “And because I got you something to help.”

         “You got me something… to help?”

         Reaching into her belt, Bethany pulled the tiny ink pot out and set it on Elodie’s knee. “Carver told me that all you took in Ostagar was your journal,” she said. “There were quills at the house, but no ink, so I thought…”

         An impossible feeling of anger rose in Elodie at the thought of what this tiny bottle probably cost, and how little they had. “Did you spend money on this?”

         “What if I did?” Bethany frowned.

         “I appreciate the thought, Bethany,” she said, reaching a hand up to rub her temples, “but we need-”

         “Food, which you got,” Bethany replied. “And to Kirkwall, which you arranged. You got what we needed,” Bethany assured her. “This is for you. You deserve something for yourself, you do so much for the rest of us.”

         Elodie stared at her, still torn by how much this simple present may have cost them.

         “And I _didn’t_ spend any coin on it,” Bethany said, holding both hands up. “I found it under some cast off rags shoved in a corner. I don’t know if it’s even any good.”

         Given that explanation, Elodie closed her hand around the ink pot. “Father always said you were a far better scavenger than I.”

         Bethany offered a smile at that. “For someone who’s so good with words, you can be horrible at saying thank you.”

 

*

 

         Dinner that night was the fish. Leandra had traded for some vegetables with another group of refugees, and together they cooked over a shared fire and huddled around for the meal, singing Fereldan songs and telling stories. The other family was decent enough that Elodie relaxed. Even Aveline calmed enough to relax by the small fire.

         After a while, the conversations grew quiet and everyone settled in to sleep. By design, Aveline and Elodie lingered awake. Neither was willing to trust the guards just yet, and over the past few nights they arranged who took which watch after Leandra and Bethany settled down.

         Aveline sat beside her and watched the other two women across the fire. “You really write?” she asked. “More than just letters?”

         “I… do,” Elodie said, once more feeling awkward. “Nothing I meant to share, but… yes.”

         “Do you remember any of it off of the top of your head?”

         “Maybe…”

         “I have fond memories of reading stories,” Aveline said. “I only ask because I wanted to know more, Hawke.”

         “Just remember,” Elodie quipped, “you _asked_ me for this.”

         Aveline made an annoyed noise, and said, “Just go on.”

         The usual flush of nervousness hit her, but it was a welcome feeling of anticipation. Since her sister had discovered the journal, Elodie had taken to reading some to Bethany from time to time. It was nice to have an audience. Better if the audience could understand some. And then at Ostagar, with Carver… Elodie looked at the dying fire, willing memories of him down. Crying now would do nothing. Since they’d already started the one about Broddie, she figured that might as well be the one she told. “How does this… oh. Right.”

         Elodie took a deep breath and began to recite the poem. How many years ago had she written it? She could barely remember Broddie’s face anymore, though she knew at the time she’d been bitter at having to leave him. The memories were faint, but the words she’d dressed them in were ready at hand, and once she began, they poured from her lips.

 

_It happens again._  
 _This night the same as others before_  
 _Threat steals away comfort_  
 _And borrowed peace is shattered in its path._  
 _No easy place we flee by night,_  
 _Though hearth was warm and welcome._  
 _Snow swallows retreating steps._  
 _Cold turn warm thoughts once dear,_  
 _Shadows all of memories left in our wake._  
 _The darkness covers our escape._  
 _Yet still, I think on thee._  
 _Alas, my sweet one with his moon colored hair,_  
 _A friendly face I abandoned there._

 

         When she finished, Elodie thought she could almost see Broddie again. She remembered, at least, his blond hair. Aveline was silent beside her for a long moment.

         “You are good,” Aveline said, offering a small smile.

         “Thank you,” Elodie replied.

         One of the guards wandered past, and the crunch of his armored step drew both of their attentions. Aveline frowned.The companionable moment was broken, almost as though the air itself was different around them. “Some other time?” Aveline asked.

         Elodie nodded. “I’ll take first watch, then.”


	2. The Red Iron

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Working for the Red Iron has its ups an downs. Up to Lowtown, down to Darktown, with a smattering of the Docks along the way.

         Sleeping arrangements always made the men of the Red Iron whistle at them. Elodie and Aveline shrugged off the attention, keeping Bethany sleeping between them by the same agreement that kept them close while they were lingering in the Gallows. Swords just to the side and with Bethany’s staff across the ground at their heads, the men thought it was like some illicit porn novel. All Elodie cared for was that they slept unmolested.

         The longer they spent with Aveline, the more Elodie liked the redheaded woman. She was frank, and willing to pull her own weight without argument or complaint. It was unkind, but after years of hearing Carver’s complaint, it was such a relief that were she inclined towards women, Elodie might kiss Aveline in gratitude.

         When they were not at active work, Meeran had the mercenaries stay in the barracks. “Barracks” meant a short warehouse that leaked when it rained, but it was at least on the cleaner side of Lowtown. The Red Iron was well organized, at least. The pay was decent, so it attracted recruits and kept its seasoned regulars. Enough of the new recruits were far too green, but over the years Eloide learned to accept that some of the fighters, even on her side, simply wouldn’t make it.

         Food was provided them at the barracks, nothing fancy but enough to get by on. Meeran had offered the three women to keep account of their debt – a hundred sovereigns a piece – but Aveline hadn’t trusted Meeran with that, and Bethany agreed with Elodie when she said they’d make a payment to him every month on their debt. All but the smallest portion of their pooled pay went towards their debt or essential supplies. What remained was taken to Leandra. Aveline insisted her share of the leftovers be sent as well, ensuring that she would not pay off her debt earlier than her fellows. Once a week the three of them made the trek across Lowtown to see Leandra to make their deliveries.

         It wasn’t difficult, during those first few months, to remain detached. Lothering was fresh in her mind, and when Elodie went to sleep she could still hear the battle cry that Carver let out before leaping to his doom. The nightmare was like drowning, when it came upon her. The two of them were alone in the wilds, surrounded by darkspawn and that horrid stench. Elodie woke ready for a fight with the ogre that had taken away her brother.

         Her vigilance was a detriment to her closest companions. First Aveline and then Bethany were given black eyes for the trouble of waking her from the nightmare. The night after suffering the blow, Bethany slept with an arm around Elodie’s middle, telling her sister that the closeness would remind her where she really was.

         Sometimes Bethany had as much knowledge as their father. The nightmare did not come that night, though sleep stayed away with it.

         “You’re going to get hurt like this,” Bethany said in a hushed voice. In the darkness of the barracks, her breath was warm against Elodie’s neck. “You need to sleep, Ellie.”

         “I’d love to… if I could manage it without hurting either of you.”

         From Bethany’s other side, Aveline snorted in agreement.

         No answer came from Bethany for a while, and Elodie hoped her sister was sleeping. The work was steady enough that Bethany needed the rest to regain her mana. There was no lyrium to be had, and Bethany hated the stuff. At least if Bethany was fresh there would be less to guard her against. A fatigued mage in an ambush was more a liability than an asset.

         Everything stayed quiet enough that Elodie was starting to drift off when a soft voice asked, “Is it Carver?”

         A jolt went through Elodie at that, and she all but jerked out of the blanket. Bethany’s arm tightened around her, holding her still. Physically Bethany was nowhere near strong enough to restrain her, but the words and the familiar arm were enough that Elodie stilled immediately.

         “You have the worst dreams,” Bethany said softly. The tone of her voice was so miserable that Elodie knew she wasn’t the topic of that statement.

         Dampness on her neck told Elodie that Bethany was crying. The nightmare was still fresh in Elodie’s mind when she closed her eyes, but that was just a dream. Shifting, she covered Bethany’s hand with her own, threading their fingers together.

         As though Bethany was some sort of balm against her torment, that touch pushed the ill memories away. In the absence of the tormenting images, Elodie held on to what was around her. There was a light somewhere in the barracks, and the noise of snores and the scratching of rats. There was also the faint noise dripping of water, rainwater trickling in from the damaged. The blanket over her was thin, but the three bodies under it kept it warm.

         This was real, right now. Bethany and Aveline and work and saving up to keep mother fed.

         Tomorrow, she determined, would be another day. And she would do as she had done since her father died, and hope that she could manage it as well now as she had when Carver was beside her.

 

*

 

         The morning, the rain returned. On days like this, most of the barracks slept in and hoped Meeran didn’t send for them. Aveline rose from their shared bed early, moving deftly and arming herself in the near darkness. Elodie roused from sleep, surprised that she’d managed it.

         “See you for supper, Hawke,” Aveline said softly. It was a casual statement, but Elodie was glad of it. Had she been truly sleeping, she would have been roused by the call of her name enough to be watchful over Bethany.

         “Keep well, Aveline,” Elodie replied as Aveline headed over to rouse the others that were set to go with her. Once or twice when Aveline was first assigned to other groups, Elodie had called ‘Maker keep you’ after her. Elodie stopped calling that when Aveline didn’t seem to reciprocate the sentiment.

         Turning onto her back, Elodie took a deep breath. There was no going back to sleep now. Bethany didn’t seem to have the same problem. Beside her, Bethany seemed not even to have woken.

         Elodie shifted around enough to stifle a yawn as Aveline headed out of the barracks into the rain. There was some grousing from the fresher mercenaries, and Aveline retorted something about Marshers too scared to venture out into a light rain.

         That got a chuckle out of Elodie, though she didn’t do more than sit up to watch Aveline as the door shut. The ‘light drizzle’ was thick, heavy water that seemed to have decided to leave the sea for the sky. Even by Fereldan standards this was a downpour, and more than one of the mercenaries had warned them about chokedamp. Rain would bring it up out of Darktown to pay a visit.

         Leaning back against the pallet, Elodie stared at the ceiling and tries to fall back asleep. The drumming of the rain on the roof was soothing, but Elodie’s mind was far too awake. The noise of the rain sounded like words, maybe a conversation of some sort. She closed her eyes to try and block it out, and again she heard the roar that Carver had given when-

         The air pressure changed around her as someone was thrown across the room just by her. Elodie’s eyes snapped open and she reached for her sword with one hand, jostling Bethany awake with the other. There were seven of them in the barracks that morning, without Aveline and those she had taken with her. Two were down – one against the wall behind her and one of the two door guards with an arrow straight through the throat at the door.

         That made five of them, including herself and Bethany.

         On bare feet with her sword and only her leathers to keep her safe, Elodie shifted away from the pallet they had slept on. From the looks of things, it was the door guards who had raised the alarm. Tense, armed, and hidden behind the door, the remaining guard – what was her name again? – nodded to Elodie.

         Bethany rose behind her. “What’s going on?” she asked, holding her staff warily. Since Lothering her ability to cast on the fly was growing steadily better, and Elodie was pleased at Bethany’s progress.

         The first rush of air indicating someone in the shadows drew a strong swing of Elodie’s sword. “Someone’s trying to kill us,” she snarled.

         The fight was brief, but not one that Elodie wished to repeat any time soon. Bethany cast a fireball as the bulk of them rushed in the door, and though the remaining guard was singed, the others in the barracks were out of range of it. The fire confused the others, but Elodie was glad of it. She moved forward and mopped up those that were trying to stamp out the fire on them.

         There was a scuffle behind her, but Elodie had to focus on her sword work. If she didn’t pay attention she would lodge the long blade in the woodwork and be weaponless for the remainder of the fight. She liked the power behind her sword, but sometimes it felt _far_ too slow. This was one of those times. It felt like it took ages before she had cut down the last of the dwarves that had burst through the door.

         Once the attackers were felled, a stab of panic sent Elodie’s gaze towards her sister. Bethany was fine, of course. She was twirling her staff as she did at the end of a spell. Just behind her the dwarf that had surprised them was impaled on a skewer of ice.

         When Bethany caught Elodie looking at her, she nodded to her sister that she was alright.

         “Mind the door,” Elodie said, flicking the blood off her sword.

         The door guard – Helena, Elodie finally remembered – nodded. “Over ‘ere, Elton, gimme a hand” she called.

         As Elton moved to stand by the door with Helena, Elodie and Bethany commenced rifling through the pockets on the bodies. Everything on them pointed to the Carta as their attackers. Bethany held up the missive that had directed the attack, and both sisters shared a skeptical look about it.

         “Well, it at least makes sense,” Elodie said, “they _were_ all dwarves.”

         Bethany didn’t bother to chuckle at her sister’s joke. She patted Elodie’s shoulder and rose. Before the attack, the other mercenaries had been moderately in the dark about her other talents. Now that the ‘mage’ secret was out, Bethany collected the injured into a corner of the room and healed away what hurts she could.

         Elodie was proud of Bethany for seeming unafraid to do so, though she hung back and kept herself out of line for it. They could do with a few more friends among the Red Iron, and Bethany’s mana would be well spent in that pursuit.

         Helena and Elton manned the door, and the injured waited on Bethany, but it became quickly apparent that the others were too confused to do anything. Elodie was surprised to realize that the others were quite _so_ green. She hadn’t thought she’d learned quite so much from her sword masters or the commander she’d trained with in the weeks before Ostagar.         “Drag the bodies into the corner,” Elodie told those that Bethany had finished. “We’ll foul the beds otherwise.”

         Once that was started, she tapped one of the younger recruits and sent him as a runner to find Meeran and let him know. At least in the cooling temperature brought on by the rain the bodies wouldn’t stink too quickly. Bethany made a very annoyed noise that drew Elodie’s attention, and she looked over at her sister.

         “You are bleeding,” Bethany accused.

         “There were worse injuries,” Elodie said, heading over to where her sister was seated. Bethany looked fine, but had spent years perfecting the ‘I’m fine’ look when their father insisted she be of sufficient mana to practice. “Do you even-”

         “Yes,” Bethany replied. “Sit down and don’t argue.”

         Even the downpour outside couldn’t mask the booted footfalls that approached at a quick trot. Aveline crashed the remains of the door open, chest heaving in agitation as she scanned the room.

         “Hawke!” she called.

         “In the corner,” Elodie called back.

         Aveline shouldered her way past the others, ignoring the bodies in the corner, and knelt beside the two of them. “Blighted Carta,” she grumbled. “Are you alright?”

         “Fine,” Elodie replied. “Just a case of sisterly over-protectiveness being backfired on me.”

         Nodding, Aveline rocked back on her heels. “Maker take this,” she looked around. “What did we do to the Carta?”

         Bethany’s spell tailed off, and Elodie sighed as the magic knit together the long gash on her leg. “I don’t know,” she said, “but I’d rather like to throw a gauntlet back at them. Let’s go talk to Meeran.”

 

*

 

         Meeran met them personally at the Hanged Man. He was most agreeable to finding out what crossed the Carta on them, as swiftly as possible. Dead mercenaries meant he had recruiting to do, and he reminded Hawke and her companions that he was in the business of making money, not buying new swords to keep the Red Iron in business. Elodie, Aveline and Bethany were tapped for the deal. Elodie thought, again, of the complete lack of initiative after the attack on the barracks. Though she and her companions had not risen in the ranks of the Iron, even Bethany was more seasoned than the others that had joined around when they had and her main experience prior to joining a month prior was in dodging when she was told to and practicing blocking with her staff. Still, Meeran gave them the lead and assigned a few of the other recruits ‘for good measure’. He made it clear that good measure would be to send the Carta a love note about slaughtering any of their number.

         Sometimes Elodie really liked the way that Meeran thought. They left the small room at the back of the Hanged Man with grim purpose. The other recruits were downstairs having a pint, and they paused long enough to collect them before heading outside. The rain hadn’t let up at all since the attack. The other members of the slapped together unit grumbled about the rain. Elodie had a different gripe.

         “I really hate it when people try to murder me in bed,” Elodie muttered to Aveline as they headed for Darktown.

         “I’m not particularly fond of it, but,” Aveline kept her voice low and glanced over her shoulder at Bethany, “I think you’ve a stronger outlook on it than I do.”

         “I am burdened with _sense_ when it comes to this sort of thing,” Elodie said, heading down the steps ahead of the group, “I prefer to strike first.”

         Aveline gave her a measured look.

         “Not this. _This_ is reactionary,” Elodie acknowledged, “but even you have to admit that this after the fact attack isn’t always the best way to play it.”

         “When you talk like that, you sound a bit bloodthirsty, Hawke.”

         “Some days it’s easy to be angry about things that have been lost,” Elodie said.

         The steps down to Darktown were in front of them. Elodie fell silent as they began to descend, and Aveline answered her statement with a grudging nod. Whatever Aveline’s thoughts on Elodie’s supposed ‘bloodthrist’, she kept them quiet as they moved along. Elodie thought the silence was more of Aveline’s current answer to disagreements, which was ‘no choice but this one’. Elodie hoped that choice didn’t make them enemies on the other end of this wretched arrangement. There would nothing to be done about it at all unless they survived, however, and so Elodie focused on the task at hand.

         Darktown smelled different when it rained hard. The water from the streets poured everything down them, eventually washing all the nasty things that were splattered on the stone streets and discarded in the alleys into the Undercity. The lightest of it made its way down into the sewers below, but much of it stayed littered around the stairs that lead down. Aveline and Elodie descended carefully. They weighed a lot more in their armor than Bethany who was behind them, and the stone steps were slick with the rain.

         The group of them made it down, and Aveline took point. Their first trip down, weeks ago now, it had become apparent that she was the better choice to lead the way. Her longsword was better for the narrow passages than Elodie’s broadsword. Elodie followed behind Aveline, and Bethany behind her with the other mercenaries at her back.

         Once they got clear of the entranceway, they checked the open area. There was no sign of the Carta, so they moved on. Everyone knew the Carta preferred Darktown to the other hidey holes in the lower half of Kirkwall. Probably because it was an even more intricate maze than the rest of Lowtown. Aveline approaches it methodically, and Elodie follows her lead, withholding her groan at the slowness of an orderly deployment.

         Still it’s nearly an hour before they found any sign of the Carta. When they did, they were on the stairs towards the old mine, and Aveline called sharply, “Guard yourselves, we’ve found them!”

         And the battle began.

         The other reason Aveline took point in the narrow corridors of the Undercity was because her shield was the best defense against the initial onslaught and once the barrage was over, she had the force to scatter back the attackers bunching towards them. The Carta were no different today than the rival group of mercenaries had been two weeks ago. They charged the stair and Aveline retaliated.

         Once they had stumbled away, Aveline and Elodie advanced into the tunnel. Bethany let the other warrior and one of the rogues move past her, standing in the doorway to cast at the enemies with the bow wielding rogue at her side.

         The Carta dwarves were not the easiest opponents they had faced, and Darktown was their stomping grounds. The mining tunnels seemed straightforward, but there were off-shoots and side paths. Each time Elodie thought they had felled the last of the group scattered among them, more came from the side. More than once she evaded a blow with the assistance of either Aveline’s shield or a blast of Bethany’s staff. Elodie felt the burn in her arms, and worked to conserve her strength.

         Just as the wave of dwarves coming from the mines stopped replenishing itself, Bethany called out, “More of them!”

         Bethany darted towards the fallen dwarves, and Aveline and Elodie charged towards the renewed attackers. This was a move that they had practiced during the escape from Lothering, only now the remaining Red Iron followed the two women up the stairs towards the next of their enemies.

         Fights in Darktown always felt like they took forever. Elodie hated the stench and the humid feeling of the air trapped in the tunnels. She was tired long before the last of them fell, but ignored it. Her muscles burned and she pulled the last of her swings at the last moment.

         One of them had to be alive enough to talk.

         Behind her, she could hear Bethany’s almost stunned murmur of, “That’s a lot of dead people.”

         Drawing her dagger, Elodie knelt beside the dwarf, gripping him by the front of his armor. “You have two options. You can either tell us why we were under attack, or you can bleed longer and _then_ tell us why we were under attack.”

         “Hawke,” Aveline grumbled.

         “Oh fine, I’ll be honest. Talk and live, keep quiet and die.”

         “He’s halfway there already,” Bethany said.

         The dwarf sputtered a bit. Aveline made a disapproving noise. She didn’t like interrogations like this, and Elodie knew it.

         “Bethany,” Elodie said. “Help our friend here out.”

 

*

 

         “In the end it was something about a lyrium smuggle that we tripped over when we wrapped up that job two weeks ago,” Elodie said, rubbing her tired arm. The five of them stood in Meeran’s tiny room in the Hanged Man.

         Meeran frowned at that. “Job never said a word about that. Two-faced son of a nug-humper.”

         “The Carta apparently didn’t want anyone to know either,” Elodie said. “They figured we might have seen something and came after us.”

         “Did you?”

         “What?”

         “See anything,” Meeran said.

         “No,” Elodie replied. “The whole place was barely bright enough to see our swords in our hands, and then the mage they had started in on the fireballs and there wasn’t much time to see anything.”

         Aveline frowned. “Whoever it was that paid us to put a stop to Lord Hemmsby obviously knew what he was in to. Why don’t you ask them?”

         Meeran regarded them for a long moment, a calculating look in his eye. “They won’t bother us again about that,” he said to them. “Round’s on me downstairs.”

         The two recruits that had come in with them headed for the door at that, obviously pleased with that turn of events. Elodie nodded to Aveline and Bethany. The other two backed away far enough to stand near the door.

         “Something on your mind, Hawke?”

         “Only that I don’t fancy sleeping in a warehouse stocking corpses.”

         The man’s brows lifted.

         “Or hadn’t you wondered what happened at the barracks?” Elodie asked. “We were attacked by a hit squad. They suffered rather scorching results.”

         Meeran’s expression turned thoughtful. “Switch out to the one on the Docks for now,” he said. “I was going to wait to send you there until you’d hit three months, but if you’ve a problem with the accommodations in Lowtown, may as well.”

         “What’s different about the barracks there?” Aveline asked.

         “More of a turf war on the docks,” Meeran replied. “Keep an eye out girls. The Coterie and every other half-tit gang in the city starts there. Now go have one on me while I get word to Paulo to lead your way down there.”

         Elodie nodded, and the three of them left the room. Aveline closed the door behind them, and they headed down the hall and down the stairs before they spoke. “I’m not entirely sure I like the idea,” Aveline said.

         “Something fishy about that to you too, Ave?” Elodie asked as they crossed towards Corff.

         “As long as the beds are free of fresh death, I think I can put up with the fishy smell for a while,” Bethany offered.

         “It’s the first I’ve heard of lyrium smuggling in Kirkwall,” Aveline said, mostly to herself.

         “It’s a sea port with a Circle,” Elodie replied, “there’s bound to be some traffic in it. The good news is, we’re clear of it.”

         Corff headed over, carrying three mugs for them. Aveline stared at the bar until he set hers down in front of her, and she looked up to him and nodded. The Hawke sisters each took one of the other two glasses. The first time they’d come out and Meeran had directed them to drink one on his tab, Bethany had all but thrown up on the floor at the end of the bar. Elodie had since advised her to hold her breath when she downed the swill, and Bethany was no better drinker but at least didn’t turn as many fascinating colors while she did it.

         Aveline remained lost in thought while Elodie took a long drink.

         When it became apparent that Aveline was in a longer thought than was strictly sensible given the hours of fighting and the ale before them, Bethany nudged Elodie in the arm.

         “Ave-”

         “They’re not all him,” Aveline said simply, cutting Elodie off. She knocked back the entire mug of ale.

         Bethany and Elodie watched for a long moment. This was about Wesley, then. Elodie’s heart twisted as she thought of the man. He wasn’t what she had come to expect from the Templar. He was nice enough and could see reason, when his wife presented it to him. Later he had seen reason for reason’s sake. He stayed back, by Leandra when the fighting was at it’s thickest, letting the others do what needed to be done.

         What sort of a man had Sir Wesley been? Elodie did not know, and thought better of asking. What pain Aveline carried was hers. When she looked as she did just then, Elodie thought of the look that her mother got when talking about her father.

         Rather than intrude on something she wasn’t sure how to begin understanding, Elodie nodded. She and Bethany finished their drinks, and about when they were done, Paulo found them and lead the way down to the barracks at the Docks.

         The building was more waterproof, but no better furnished. Bethany and Aveline made about dragging the pallets together on the floor, and the three women undid enough armor to sleep comfortably.

         As soon as they settled down, Elodie’s thoughts began speaking to her again. She sighed, willing sleep to come because she was otherwise weary. She could feel the day’s fighting in her bones, but her mind simply would not be silent.

         Aveline shifted on the other side of Bethany, and Bethany released the grip she had on Elodie’s stomach, murmuring quietly, “Stuff’s in my pouch.”

         “Thanks, Beth,” Elodie murmured as she drew away from the two of them.

         Elodie groaned softly as she got up off the pallet, immediately missing the warmth of the two bodies and blanket they had been sharing. She groped at Bethany’s tucked belongings until she found the right pouch on her sister’s belt. The quill and ink were there, and she kept the little journal she’d had at Ostagar in her own belt. It took up a precious amount of space, but she kept it along because there was no safe place to leave it.

         Making her way to the corner, Elodie hunkered down. There was light enough from the guard’s candles to make out the page, and that would do her well enough to write by. Anything would be better than swimming thoughts keeping her up.

         At first she just let her hand trace the page, the thoughts loud and jumbled. Once they settled enough, she took out the quill and began writing.

         It became a habit. She sat up every few nights with book and quill, as long as she was healthy, for the remaining months of their indentured service to the Red Iron.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It takes a little time, sometimes. But in this instance, freedom isn't necessarily all it's cracked up to be.

         It was a shock when it was all over.

         Elodie, Aveline, and Bethany were all sitting with their heads together, counting out the month’s earnings. Elodie kept their little tallies on the last page of her journal, marking with ink and occasionally with blood when necessary, and they counted out the last six sovereigns they would ever owe Meeran unless they hired the Red Iron for something.

         After eighteen months – despite Meeran’s assurances there was down time even for a handy mercenary group, and there was Leandra to take care of, a duty Aveline flatly refused to forgo – freedom was a heady concept. Life had been so much of waking and checking with the runner to see what work was to be had, or caring for arms or armor, or finishing up what had come the day before that there was little to think on beyond it.

         Bethany insisted they visit mother, and Aveline came along with them. Climbing the stairs from the docks, they walked in the same formation that they had for their indenture. Bethany was between them, slightly behind the two warriors, Elodie was slightly behind Aveline in case there was need of the woman’s shield for defense.

         Strange, Elodie thought, how familiar it could become to move in a unit like this when it included Bethany. Of the three Hawke children, she had been the one least often in the fray before. Elodie didn’t think she’d have trusted it without Aveline, and for that she was eternally grateful. The redheaded woman was a blessing, even though more than once they had butted heads about the work they were doing. The problem didn’t seem to be anything that either Elodie or Bethany were doing, but something… something seemed to have gotten to Aveline along the way. It was almost like there wasn’t _enough_ in the mercenaries. An odd concept, given that they had been busy more often than not, but the way that Aveline sometimes spoke of her service to King Cailan made it obvious that Meeran’s mercenary group was lacking something that the widowed soldier was looking for.

         More than once, Elodie had tried to broach the subject, but Aveline remained wrapped in private thoughts. That Aveline trusted Elodie and Bethany was obvious, but beyond that, she was in a very contemplative state and had been for most of their indenture to the mercenaries. This walk felt odd to Elodie, because there still had been no discussion of what was really bothering Aveline, and now that they were all free, there was a chance that Aveline would have nothing more to do with them.

         Elodie was worried by that. She did not want to lose a friend.

         So as they walked, Aveline kept a wary eye on the streets in the late afternoon light, and Elodie kept a nervous eye on Aveline. Bethany remarked about the architecture, something she did every time they had ever stopped in a city. Bethany and Carver had been born in the mountains. Elodie could just barely remember it. She had been four at the time, too tiny to be of much use, but good enough for a lookout. She could remember her father joking with her mother that she always seemed to pick _the best places_ to go into labor. She could not remember more than that, and a lot of screaming and being scared and cold while she kept watch outside. And then there were babies she was introduced to, and suddenly Elodie was a big sister.

         Most of their childhood had been spent in out of the way locations – either on the edge of some wilderness or in the foothills of some mountains or, later when the twins were old enough to understand some of what was going on, in farmland. Elodie wasn’t sure she liked the towering, dirty walls of Kirkwall, but Bethany had been fascinated with the architecture of every city they had ever been to, and the twisting streets of Kirkwall were no exception. As they walked, Bethany pointed out the things painted on the walls, and which alley had a different shape as they passed them.

         It didn’t take long before they reached Gamlen’s hovel. The story came bubbling forth from Bethany’s excited lips, and the expression on mother’s face as she took in the news was a beautiful thing to watch.

         “Oh my girls,” Leandra said, throwing her arms wide and wrapping them all in an embrace far larger than she could physically provide, “I’m so proud.”

         Elodie leaned into her mother, trying not to hear the bitter fights she’d caught her mother having with Gamlen about how he had _dared_ to sell her children into _servitude_. Elodie concentrated on how the cough was gone, and her mother’s voice was again what she remembered it.

         Aveline flushed slightly at the comment, fidgeting a little.

         Bethany chuckled. “I know it took us a little longer, mother,” she said, “but we weren’t going to be stuck there forever.”

         “What’s a year?” Elodie asked, leaning back and shrugging out of her armor when the hug loosened.

         “A year and a half,” Aveline said.

         “What’s a year and a half, then?” Elodie asked. “When it’s in the good company of people you trust?”

         “You’ll all stay for dinner, then, won’t you?” Leandra asked them.

         Aveline started to reply when Elodie said, “Of course we will, mother. I daresay we’ll be staying the night.”

         Leandra’s eyes lit up at the concept. For a moment they all stood there, and then Bethany stretched. “Come on, mother, I’ll walk with you to the market. We’re probably going to need a bit more if we’re feeding five.”

         “Gamlen doesn’t eat much,” Leandra said with a shake of her head, though she went to gather the tattered shawl she wore, “he tends to drink most of his meals.”

         “Not on my coin he won’t,” Bethany replied, earning a grin from Leandra as the two of them headed for the door.

         Aveline shifted awkwardly, about to follow them out the door when Ulster padded over from his spot on the fire and made a soft wuff to Elodie before heading out with the two women. Once they were alone, Aveline shook her head. “I’d almost forgotten about him,” she said.

         “It set my mind more at ease having him stay with mother while we were… indisposed,” Elodie said, beginning to take off her armor. “The whole street will know if they need help.”

         “Aye,” Aveline replied.

         “You’re welcome to stay, Ave,” Elodie said, “You know mother loves you.”

         “Leandra is a dear woman.” Aveline glanced around the hovel. Aveline was familiar with the space, Elodie knew because Aveline came with them for weekly visits. But from the look she gave it now, Elodie wondered if Aveline might find the place objectionable.

         “And if it came to a disagreement, my uncle couldn’t take you if his life depended on it.”

         “Gamlen is a bit of a sour tit, isn’t he?”

         They both chuckled at that. Aveline undid her sword belt, and began loosening her armor. Elodie finished with hers and stretched her back, watching the redheaded woman. With just the two of them in the room, there was no noise beyond the crackle of the fire in the hearth. That nagging feeling chewed on Elodie again, and she wondered if Aveline would be leaving them.

         “Are you alright, Ave?”

         “What do you mean, Hawke?” Aveline stilled,

         “You’ve been… quiet these last months,” Elodie replied.

         “What has there been to say? We’ve been working.”

         “Yes, I know, but the _kind_ of work.”

         “Hawke, I can’t very well hold it against you that Meeran’s got all the good sense of a Darktown rat. Given our options, you chose the one I would have. No. You chose the one I asked you to.”

         “Well it wasn’t just about me,” Elodie replied.

         Aveline’s brows lifted. “I hadn’t realized you’d thought about that when you decided.”

         “Give me a little credit, Aveline. You and I are the rational, sense-talking ones.”

         “Most of the time,” Aveline agreed. She finished taking her armor off and settled it beside Elodie’s. “Sometimes it’s impossible to tell _what_ you’re thinking.”

         “In my defense,” Elodie replied, “that’s often when there’s something large and nasty to put out of our misery.”

         The two of them shared a chuckle at that. As the laughter faded, they lingered in silence. Elodie fed some more wood to the fire, both to prepare it for cooking and to banish the dampness that hung in the air inside the hovel.

         “To be honest,” Aveline said, “I never really thought it would end.” Glancing over at Aveline, Elodie was surprised to find the other woman staring at the floor. “Things are going to be different now.”

         “No longer being an indentured servant does change things.”

         An agreeing noise came out of Aveline, but she didn’t seem to be thinking the same thoughts. “Not just that, Hawke. We’re here now, all of us. In Kirkwall.”

         Turning back to the fire, Elodie poked the logs with a stick. “All of us that made it,” she said softly.

         The room was silent after that. Elodie was thinking of Carver in the way that often made her feel sick. She could only imagine that Aveline must be thinking of Ser Wesley.

         “Listen to me going on about something like that,” Aveline said.

         “Well, when you spend every waking minute with someone, you do run out of weightless conversation to have. Though if you’d like, we can discuss the weather.”

         “I’ll pass on that, Hawke.” Aveline shook her head with a smile. “So have you figured out what you’ll do now? Coming to Kirkwall was your idea.”

         “Technically, coming to Kirkwall was mother’s idea,” Elodie corrected. “I just backed her up about it.”

         Aveline nodded, “Still, it must be a bit of a disappointment. Not to have her family’s money and title.”

         “I would have settled for a house that doesn’t boast a resident rat population as a creative method for heating, honestly. We were farmers in Lothering. My only distinction was my broadsword and my mabari.”

         That managed to get a smile out of Aveline. “Somehow I doubt that was all of it.”

 

*

 

         It had been easy, at first, to think that everything would be alright. Leandra was pleased to have Elodie and Bethany out of ‘Meeran’s clutches’ as she called the mercenary work, and Elodie didn’t have the heart to tell her mother that Meeran was as fair as any of the other mercenaries she’d worked for. He was far more transparent than some of the work she’d done for the Irregulars in Ferelden. Sometimes the only work to do wasn’t pretty or reputable, but that was the sort of work where they asked the least amount of questions about you beforehand. Certainly Taoran had been accepting enough of having a woman carrying a broadsword, even if she’d had to give him a knock with the pommel of it when his hands tried following his eyes all over her.

         Bethany had heard some of those sorts of stories, though out of a pact made with their father, Elodie only complained a little. It was better, Elodie thought (much as her father had), for Bethany to be allowed to be sweet.

         The trouble was that they were in Kirkwall, now. All Elodie’s good intentions of keeping Bethany from knowing the worst of things wore down as what little money they had got spent.

         No one wanted to hire Fereldans, and it didn’t matter how good Elodie’s sword was, or how quick she was on her feet, or that she had a three-hundred pound hound to back her up if the job needed to be done solo. There was a very distinct local prejudice, and being a woman didn’t help matters at all. It was so unlike Ferelden in that regard that it was baffling to her. More than once she heard the phrase ‘dog lord bitch’ muttered as she left somewhere.

         Aveline joined the guard, thankfully. Elodie wasn’t sure what she’d have done with five of them to provide for. Being in the guard meant that Aveline lived in the barracks, though, so she was around less and less.

         After two months of doing just about everything she could shy of indenturing herself to the Blooming Rose, Elodie felt the need to level with Bethany.

 

*

 

         “Beth…” Elodie said, slowing her pace as they headed towards the Lowtown market.

         “Is something wrong, Ellie?” Bethany asked, pausing to look back over her shoulder at her sister.

         “We… we need to talk.”

         As she looked at her sister, Bethany’s heart dropped into her stomach and her blood ran cold. The last time Elodie had said anything like that was when father had gotten sick. Bethany hadn’t wanted to believe it, and she’d spent all her mana for days trying to pour healing into her father. She’d all but made herself sick with it, and mother had ended up crying. Elodie had dragged her sister from their father, but there was always this sick feeling whenever Elodie said something like that.

         Her sister hadn’t looked so downtrodden since then. “Oh, Maker, Ellie, you’re alright, aren’t you?” Bethany asked, hearing her voice climb half an octave as she asked it. “You’re not-”

         “No!” Elodie said quickly, reaching out to take Bethany’s arm. “It’s nothing like that. I’m sorry I phrased it that way.”

         After taking a deep breath, Bethany nodded. “But there’s obviously something heavy on your mind.”

         Elodie took her sister’s arm and stepped the two of them out of the foot traffic, towards a little alcove in one of the walls. “I’m sorry,” she repeated, “but yes… I… that is we…”

         “You know whatever theatrical effect you’re going for is only making this worse,” Bethany replied.

         “We’re almost broke,” Elodie said with a sigh.

         “Is that all?” Bethany asked, “You had me thinking there was a problem.”

         “Being broke in the city isn’t the same as being broke on a farm, Beth,” Elodie replied, frowning and pitching her voice lower as a guard sneered at them on his way past. “We can’t go forage in the woods and we can’t just grow what we need.”

         “The job search isn’t going so well then, I take it?”

         “I tried with Lirene, but we’ve had jobs,” Elodie replied. “There are people worse off.”

         Bethany nodded in response, and was silent for a moment. Elodie hoped against hope that Bethany would have a good idea of what to do about their problem.

         Unfortunately, Elodie’s first instinct – worry – was the correct one.

         “We’ll think of something,” was all Bethany said.

 

*

 

         The money lasted enough to feed them without Gamlen’s intermittent charity for a little over a month. There were a few odd jobs that people needed done, and Elodie did them without asking too many questions. Bethany still had good eyes, and she found little things that they could sell. The coppers weren’t much, but they were something. The hunger in the shack did nothing to lessen the arguments, and the raised voices sent Elodie, Bethany, and Baskerville from the house seeking the muttered slurs of strangers in preference to the knowing insults hurled across the dirty house.

         Despite the rather vicious irony of it, the girls enjoyed the view from the docks. Bethany had always enjoyed different examples of architecture, and if you ignored the fact that it was a monumental prison first built to hold slaves and then to ‘house’ Circle mages. It was sort of the same thing, just with a different name.

         The view was nice, though. The afternoon sun cast the shadow of the tower long across the bay, and the three of them sat on the steps of an empty berth. Elodie was skipping stones across the water, bouncing the rocks up onto the stairs on the other side. Bethany was leaned up against Baskerville, brow furrowed and lost in thought.

         “Careful,” Elodie said to her sister, “your face might stick that way.”

         “I haven’t believed that since the first time Carver parroted it at me,” Bethany replied with a snort.

         “He should have come up with his own insult,” Elodie said.

         “You know he used to read your journals for things to say to Peaches,” Bethany said, chuckling. “He teased you about them, but he loved the way you used words.”

         “At least he had good taste.”

         “It was the only thing he had it about,” Bethany said.

         Thinking about Carver had a tendency to make Elodie’s spirits plummet. It wasn’t too long of a drop to rock bottom, considering how down she had been about their financial situation. Elodie had promised their father he would take care of everyone, and she had already failed so much. She was failing again, and-

         Bethany sat up abruptly, drawing her whole body from it’s slump against the mabari. “That’s it!”

         “What’s it?”

         “Your writing!” Bethany exclaimed, climbing to her feet quickly.

         “I don’t see what you mean at all, Beth,” Elodie said, tossing another stone at the water. The stone didn’t skip, it sank into the murky depths of the empty berth.

         “People _like_ your writing,” Bethany said, “we just need someone to publish it.”

         “I don’t know, Beth…”

         “Well we didn’t know about going hungry before we got here, maybe we don’t need to know about this either.”

         If she’d phrased it any other way, Elodie might have been able to say no, but between her complaining stomach and the guilt of failure that loomed overhead, there was no good response to make. “We’ll… ask around, then,” she said. “I doubt there will be much interest.”

         “We’ll find someone, you’ll see.”

 

* 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally I thought I would be in and out of this story in 3 chapters, it's looking like 5ish now.


End file.
